


Noncorporeal Aspirations

by cherryblossomwrites



Series: Noncorporeal Aspirations [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Nonbinary Draco Malfoy, Nonbinary Harry Potter, Oral Sex, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 03:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20686748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryblossomwrites/pseuds/cherryblossomwrites
Summary: Harry, who secretly wishes he didn't have a body, finds himself being judged by the wizarding world for his poor clothing choices. Draco, a tailor, comes to his rescue - with solutions for his clothing, his gender and his love life





	Noncorporeal Aspirations

**Author's Note:**

> Being nonbinary myself, I couldn't pass up this opportunity to explore the idea of these two being nonbinary as well

Harry’s at yet another fancy Ministry event, making endless small talk. Everyone’s wearing their finest dress robes and Harry is silently wishing he was at home in his sweatpants. It’s just like every other mindless event he’s ever been dragged to.

Until, suddenly, it isn’t.

Across the room, Harry spots Draco Malfoy. He hasn’t seen Draco in nearly three years. Not since he left the wizarding world to live in Milan or Paris or somewhere equally posh. They’d been on relatively good terms when he left too, and he hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye.

And now, here he is, at this stuffy event like every other vaguely important wix in Britain. Harry doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

He’s now blatantly ignoring the conversation that he’d been tangentially involved in. All his attention is on Draco. He looks different. His hair is long, styled in an intricate braid. His robes are a dark navy – a subtle difference to the mostly black robes surrounding him. They hug his figure in a way that gives an illusion of curves.

Harry slips away from his conversation partners, heading in Draco’s direction. It’s slow going; he keeps getting waylaid by people asking inane questions. But he’s closer now.

From this distance, he can see the detailing on Draco’s robes, thin gold thread fanning out at his waist and hips. The robes have a high collar and, over that, Draco is wearing a gold locket on a delicate chain.

Harry is coming to a stop in front of him now. Draco looks poised and elegant, the effect only heightened by the quiet confidence in his eyes.

“Potter,” Draco greets him.

“Hello, Draco.”

Draco arches a single eyebrow at the use of his first name.

“So you’re back in Britain, then?” Harry asks.

Draco nods. “Going into business,” he explains. “Tailoring.”

“So you – ” Harry gestures vaguely at Draco’s robes.

“Yes, I made these.”

“They look good. You look good.” It’s a massive understatement and yet saying it still feels risky.

“Thank you.” Draco smiles, demure, before arching that eyebrow again. “Unfortunately I can’t say the same for your clothing choices.”

Harry looks down at his own robes, cheap and ill-fitting. “I just want to blend in,” he says.

“Good luck with that.”

Harry wants to ask what Draco means, but there’s a small gaggle of witches swooping in now, trapping Harry in small talk once again. By the time Harry is able to emerge, Draco is nowhere to be found.

A few days later, Harry is making his way to a small coffeeshop. He was surprised when Draco owled him, asking to meet up, but he quickly agreed.

Draco is already inside, sitting at a table, waiting for him. Once Harry’s ordered, he makes his way over to join him.

Draco is wearing a perfectly starched white shirt, collar crisp, gold stitching on the pocket. In the place of a tie, he is once again wearing that locket. His hair is pulled back in a simple braid today.

When Draco stands up to greet him, Harry notices how long and lean his legs are in his burgundy trousers.

Once they’ve shaken hands and sat down, Harry cuts straight to the chase. “Why were you wanting to meet?” he asks Draco.

Draco slides a newspaper across the table. “Because of this.”

Harry picks the paper up. It’s turned to the section for best- and worst-dressed. And there’s Harry’s own face, staring up at him, looking lost and uncertain. The caption below reads, ‘The Slob Who Lived?’.

Harry lets the newspaper fall back to the table and sighs, defeated.

“You need help, Potter.”

Harry looks up at Draco who’s watching him with something suspiciously like sympathy. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“I get that you don’t want to draw attention to yourself,” Draco explains. “But the way you’re dressing now,” he shrugs, “that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

“I guess.”

“I think I understand what you’re trying to do. But it actually requires effort. Wearing your oldest, baggiest clothing isn’t an option.”

Harry picks at the red sleeve of his jumper. He knows that it’s oversized, but that’s kinda why he loves it. Sometimes, when he’s really trying to forget that he has a body, he’ll tuck his legs inside it and retreat his arms from his sleeves until he’s ball-shaped. It feels like home. But he can also see how it looks slovenly.

“Let me make some clothes for you,” Draco says.

“Really?”

“I offered, didn’t I?”

“But why would you do that?” Harry asks.

“It’ll be good for my business,” Draco explains with a shrug. “I probably also owe you a few favours.”

Which is how Harry ends up at Malfoy Manor three days later, getting measured up for new clothes.

“What are you trying to achieve with your clothes?” Draco asks as an enchanted tape measure determines the length of Harry’s arm.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you said it’s about blending in.” It’s measuring the breadth of Harry’s shoulders now. “But what do you mean by that?”

Harry shrugs. “I just wish people could look past me, look past the fact that I have a body.”

“Ok.” The measuring tape is sliding under Harry’s armpits now, measuring his chest.

“Is that weird?” Harry asks. “Wishing I didn’t have a body?”

Draco shakes his head. “It’s very relatable, actually.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Of course I do. There’s a reason I dress like this.” He gestures at the clothes he’s wearing – a long, fitted jumper with gold woven through, and tight black pants. “I use clothing as armour, as a way to create an illusion.”

“You’re not going to make me dress like that, are you?” Harry asks. It’s not that he doesn’t like the way Draco dresses. He definitely does. It just doesn’t really feel like Harry.

“No, I’m going to keep it simple,” Draco assures him. “Use neutral colours. It’s just going to be higher quality and better fitting.”

“That’s alright, then.” The tape measure has moved on to Harry’s legs now.

“Also a bit of magic.”

“Really?” Harry asks. “How?”

“I have threads that are imbued with magic,” Draco explains. “There’s a black one that I’ll sew into your clothes. Draws attention away from them.”

“Oh.” Harry’s feeling relieved, but this new information is also making him curious. “Your gold thread,” he asks, “is that also magic?”

Draco nods. “Creates an air of refined elegance.”

They fall silent as the last few measurements are taken.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Draco asks eventually.

“Sure.”

“I’m still working on this myself,” he says, “but you might also want to work on feeling good about having a body. Indulge in those moments when having a body feels like a good thing.”

Harry sighs. “I’m not sure it ever feels that way.”

“Really?” Draco asks. “Not even when you’re flying.”

Harry thinks for a moment, remembers what it feels like to be on a broom. The sensation of racing through the air, the wind on his face. The weightlessness. The freedom. He smiles. “Yea, that’s a pretty good feeling.”

“So how about we indulge?” Draco suggests. “Go for a fly?”

Harry doesn’t have to be told twice. In next to no time, the two of them are up in the air, whooping and hollering and flying loop-de-loops. It’s exhilarating. Harry feels alive. Present.

As he hovers in the air, Draco comes to a stop beside him. Draco’s cheeks are flushed red, his hair coming loose from its braid. There is an ease to him that’s not usually present, as if he’s come undone somewhat.

Harry’s eyes are drawn to the hints of gold. The locket that had been tucked inside Draco’s jumper. The gold thread sewn through it. The realisation that Draco’s come apart this much, despite the presence of the thread, hits Harry like a tonne of bricks. He wonders how much looser, how much hotter, Draco would look without the tempering effect of the thread.

Because it is hot, unbelievably hot, seeing Draco like this. Sated and sweaty, this is probably what he looks like after sex, Harry muses.

Draco is watching him with a raised eyebrow now, a slight hint of self-consciousness about him. Harry takes off again, flies another loop-de-loop in an attempt to distract himself.

That night, with his hand shoved down inside his sweatpants, that image of Draco on his broomstick is all that Harry can think of as he strokes himself.

This is the only kind of sex Harry has been having recently – solo and furtive, with not even the slightest effort to unclothe himself. He prefers it this way, with no one there to strip him down or to watch him as he gets off. It’s just him and the delicious feeling of a rapidly building orgasm.

And an image of Draco, flushed and happy.

A week later, Harry arrives on the doorstep of Malfoy Manor bright and early. He’d received an owl the previous night, telling him his clothes were ready.

When Draco answers the door, he’s wearing a silk floral dressing gown. The sight of him is almost enough to make Harry’s brain implode. Especially given his recent recurring fantasies.

“You’re early,” Draco tells him.

“Sorry,” Harry says as he steps inside, “I got a bit too excited. About the clothes,” he adds hurriedly.

“Right, well.” Draco leads him through large hallways. “I was just having a pot of tea. Did you want some?”

“Yea, alright.”

They arrive in a brightly lit sunroom where a teapot and mug are sitting on a table, alongside the newspaper. Draco waves his wand and another mug flies into the room.

They’re soon settled at the table, each with their hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea. Harry allows himself a moment to drink in the details that are Draco. The hair in the messy plait, the skin that’s as pale as it’s ever been. He looks slightly different today, and it takes Harry a while to realise that it must be due to the absence of any gold thread. Finally, he lets his gaze linger on the expanse of skin exposed by the deep v of Draco’s dressing gown.

Draco clears his throat and Harry lifts his eyes to meet Draco’s. He’s been caught staring, he’s definitely been caught staring, and now he’s lost for words, unable to come up with a good excuse.

“You’re not wearing your locket,” he says eventually.

“I usually put it on when I get dressed.”

“Why do you wear it so much?”

“An ex gave it to me.” Draco shrugs. “I guess I’m not over him.”

Harry doesn’t miss the pronoun use. Sure, he’d had suspicions, but it’s nice to have confirmation that Draco’s into guys. Makes him feel less guilty about lusting after him.

“Quid pro quo,” Draco tells him. “What about your love life? I take it you’re not with Weasley anymore?”

Harry shakes his head. “I’ve dated a few people since then. Guys mostly. Never seems to work out.”

“Does it have something to do with you wishing you were a noncorporeal being?”

“Probably, yea.” Harry smiles, small and awkward. “Sex proves difficult when you’d rather not be naked.”

“Really?” Draco raises an eyebrow. “I’ve never found it to be an issue.”

“You have sex while you’re fully clothed?” Harry kinda can’t believe the direction this conversation is taking.

“Not fully, no. But I wouldn’t, for example, take this off.” He plucks at the collar of his dressing gown.

“Oh?” Harry says, hoping his voice doesn’t betray the definite interest his cock is taking in that idea.

“I mean, I’d undo it, of course, open it up. But – ”

Unbidden, the image Draco is describing comes to the forefront of Harry’s mind. “Fuck,” he whispers.

Draco raises an eyebrow. “You into that, Potter?”

“Into you?” Harry asks with all the courage he can muster. “Yea.”

“So – ” It’s a question, an invitation, even.

Without further thought, Harry gets up, walks around the table until he’s standing in front of Draco. “Can I?” he asks, fingers skating over the silk of the dressing gown.

Draco stands up, and now they’re eye to eye. “Please,” he says, and Harry can hear how much he wants this too.

Harry’s hands find their way to the belt of the dressing gown. As he fumbles to get it undone, Draco leans forward and kisses him. As Harry gets lost in the kiss, he gives up on the knot. Even still, his hands manage to find their way under the silk of the gown, directly onto Draco’s silky-smooth skin. He trails them down lower, over the fabric of Draco’s underwear and the thick cock within. Harry breaks the kiss.

“Can I suck your cock?” he asks, already sinking down to his knees. There’s nothing he wants more than that cock in his mouth. The fact that he’ll be able to stay fully clothed is an added bonus.

“Yea, do that,” Draco tells him. He’s undoing the previously forgotten knot now. Parts of his torso are already exposed, but soon the entirety of it is, along with the delicious bulge in his underwear. He’s already flushed, even his chest is blotchy red, and Harry is once again overwhelmed with how hot Draco is when he loosens up.

Mostly though, he’s overwhelmed by the idea of Draco’s cock in his mouth. In his eagerness, he places open-mouthed kisses on it, through the underwear.

“You can take them off,” Draco tells him.

Harry had figured as much, he just hasn’t gotten that far yet. Still he takes that as some kind of admonishment, tugging Draco’s underwear down in one fell swoop. As Draco steps out of them, Harry eyes his cock, which is even more tantalisingly gorgeous than he could have hoped. The moment that Draco has both feet on the floor again, Harry has his mouth on his cock, relishing the feeling. With his hand holding the base steady, Harry quickly sets up a rhythm, pushing himself slightly further than he can handle, just for the way it grounds him in his body.

He looks up at Draco as he blows him. He takes in the way the dressing gown frames his body, the wild look in his eyes, the incoherent muttering. He’s an absolute mess, but Harry is pretty sure that Draco’s never looked better.

In fact, the sight of Draco coming undone at his ministrations is enough to have Harry shoving his free hand inside his sweatpants. He works his own cock with his hand while he continues to work Draco’s cock with his mouth. It’s all so much, and Harry’s getting close. It seems like Draco is too. Harry’s unsure which of them is going to come first.

Suddenly, Draco’s hand is on his jaw. “Harry, stop.”

He pulls off of Draco’s cock with a pop. “Are you alright?”

“Yea, I just want to try something different. Stand up.”

Harry does so, but he’s wary now. Draco grabs him by the shoulders, turning them both around until he can push Harry down onto the chair. He straddles Harry’s lap. They’re kissing again now, and Harry’s wrapped a loose hand around Draco’s cock. He strokes it slowly.

Draco’s hands are at the waistband of Harry’s sweatpants and he breaks the kiss. “Can I?” he asks Harry.

Harry just nods his agreement.

In one deft movement, Draco has pulled his cock out, waistband now tucked beneath his balls. Draco scoots forward until his cock is brushing up against Harry’s, and then he’s wrapping a slick hand around them both.

It’s absolute bliss, Harry thinks, kissing Draco while he strokes both of their cocks. This is how sex should always be. It feels good, but he’s still mostly clothed and the attention isn’t entirely on him. He grips at Draco’s thighs as Draco’s strokes get faster and faster. And then, with a strangled cry, Harry is coming.

When the last spurt of come is wrung out of him, Draco lets go of his cock but continues stroking his own. Their kiss got broken when Harry came, but Draco seems oblivious to it. His eyes have fallen shut and his chest is covered with Harry’s come. He’s fallen quiet and the way he’s biting his lip suggests that he’s right on the edge of orgasm. With his spare hand, he begins to fondle his balls and then he, too, is coming.

As he returns back to himself, Draco looks absolutely debauched, from kiss-swollen lips to the two coatings of come. There’s now no indication that his hair was ever in a braid.

“Was that ok?” he asks Harry after a moment, pulling his dressing gown around him as he speaks.

“It was phenomenal,” Harry tells him. As Draco stands up, Harry tucks his now spent cock back into his sweatpants.

“Good.” Draco smiles, small and tight, and it’s obvious just how self-conscious he feels.

Harry reaches out, grabs hold of his hand. “You’re gorgeous.”

“I’m a mess,” Draco counters. “I need a shower.”

Harry is relieved when Draco doesn’t invite him to join. While he waits for Draco’s return, he skim reads the paper. The only detail he’s able to take in, however, is the fact that there are, for once, no writeups about him.

Harry doesn’t hear from Draco in a week and he’s despairing about what that means for him, for the both of them. And then, suddenly, Draco is owling him, and they’re meeting at the muggle coffeeshop again.

Once again, Draco is already there when Harry arrives, but this time there’s also a drink waiting for Harry at the table. In the ongoing date/not a date debate, that’s a solid point in the date column.

“You look nice,” Draco tells Harry once he’s reached the table. He’s casting a critical eye over Harry’s clothes though, so Harry doesn’t read too far into it.

“Thanks.” He tugs at the hem of his new jumper – a dark grey – as he sits down. He takes in Draco’s own outfit, the open collar shirt that makes the absence of his locket conspicuous.

Awkward silence falls between the two of them. It had been awkward like this at the manor, too, after Draco had returned from his shower. Harry had left as soon as he’d performed a perfunctory trying-on of the clothes, unable to withstand the jagged, raw feeling between the two of them.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Draco tells him now, after sipping his coffee.

Harry places his own drink back down on the table.

“I tried to tell myself it wasn’t any of my business, but,” he shrugs, “if I were in your position, I’d want someone to suggest it.”

“Suggest what?” Harry asks, absolutely clueless as to where this conversation could be going. The only thing he can be sure of is that it isn’t romantic.

“When I was in Milan,” Draco says, “I met a lot of trans people. I discovered that I, myself, am trans. Have you ever heard the word nonbinary?”

Harry shakes his head.

“It means that I’m not a man, but I’m also not a woman. I don’t fit into that either/or binary. And I thought – ” He pauses, looking deep into Harry’s eyes, as if searching for something. “Again, this probably isn’t any of my business, but it seems like you could be nonbinary too.”

“Oh,” Harry says. There isn’t really anything else to say.

“Of course, I could be completely wrong,” Draco tells him. He’s starting to ramble now. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything, this is your journey – ”

Harry places a hand over Draco’s on the table, hoping it will quiet him. It does. “Thank you,” he says.

Draco raises an eyebrow, suggesting that was an odd response.

“I’ll think about it,” Harry tells him. The truth is that he thinks Draco could very well be right. There’s something about the idea of being neither man nor woman that feels like it fits. But Harry doesn’t want to rush into anything.

Harry’s hand is still on top of Draco’s. Draco now turns his hand until its palm is facing upwards and grips hold of Harry’s. For a moment, they just sit holding hands.

Gradually, a thought occurs to Harry. “You being nonbinary, does that change anything? Do I still use the same words?”

“It doesn’t change much,” Draco tells him. “I try to avoid gendered words like man and son, but that’s about it. I haven’t settled on new pronouns yet.”

“But if you do – ” Harry trails off.

Draco smiles. “I’ll tell you.”

As they focus back on their drinks, Harry finds himself lost in thought. He’s suddenly desperate to get to a muggle library, desperate to use the internet to research this new part of himself.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Soon, they’re hovering outside the coffeeshop, about to part ways. Harry is still none the wiser as to whether this was a date. He’s just about to turn and leave when, suddenly, Draco is leaning in and kissing him. Harry’s caught by surprise and the kiss is brief enough that he doesn’t have a chance to return it.

“I’ll see you around,” Draco says.

Before Harry can reply, Draco is walking away. Harry turns in the opposite direction and heads for the library.

The next morning, Harry has only been dressed for about ten minutes when there’s a knock at the door. He finds Draco standing on the other side, wearing a patterned jumper and grey pants while holding a newspaper.

“Did you see this?” Draco asks, by way of a greeting, thrusting the paper at Harry.

Harry steps aside to let Draco in while he takes in the story on the front page. The headline reads ‘Potter: New Clothes and a New Beau?’ Beneath it is a photo of Harry and Draco kissing outside the coffeeshop yesterday.

“I figured we should talk about it,” Draco says.

Harry looks up at him. “Probably, yea.”

“Are they right?” Draco asks. “Are we in a relationship?”

“Do you want to be?” Harry counters. He’s genuinely unsure how Draco will answer. While it’s clear that Draco is nervous, Harry doesn’t know why.

Draco nods in quick little anxious jerks.

“So do I,” Harry tells him. “So I guess that means we are.”

The relief in Draco’s smile is evident.

They’re still standing in the entryway, so Harry leads Draco down the hall, into the living room. “They missed something,” Harry tells Draco as they sit down on the sofa, “in the article.”

“They did?”

“Yea,” Harry says. “I also have a new gender.”

“So you’re – ”

“Nonbinary, yes.” His research had made that abundantly clear. “And I’m going to use they/them pronouns.”

“Ok.” Draco pokes at Harry’s knee. “That didn’t take you very long.”

Harry shakes their head. “Not really. I thought I might have some trouble choosing pronouns, since there’s so many. But the others just didn’t feel like me.”

“Why?” Draco asks. “Too weird?”

“I didn’t think they were weird.”

“Oh?”

They look up at Draco. “Why? Did you?”

“The opposite, actually.” The hand at Harry’s knee is drawing circles now. “There’s one set I really like.”

“But you said – ”

“I wasn’t sure how you would react,” Draco tells them.

Harry places a hand over the one on their knee. “What are your pronouns, Draco?”

“Fae.” It’s said so quietly that Harry almost isn’t sure that they heard correctly.

“So, like, ‘fae is my partner’?” they ask.

Draco smiles, still slightly hesitant. “Yea, like that.”

“And I’m reacting ok?”

Fae rolls faer eyes. “Obviously.”

Harry smiles before tugging Draco towards them, into a kiss.

“I guess the conversation’s over, then,” Draco says between kisses.

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” Harry asks faer.

Draco’s response is to kiss them again. Fae quickly deepens the kiss, pushing Harry backwards until the two of them are lying on the sofa. It’s not particularly comfortable, but as Draco’s tongue begins to plumb the depths of Harry’s mouth, Harry decides that they don’t really care.

That sentiment can only last for so long though. Eventually, Harry breaks the kiss. “Need to move,” they tell Draco.

Draco rests on faer elbows. “Are you ok?”

“Just uncomfortable.”

With some effort, Draco stands up. Harry gets an unobstructed view of faer clothed erection before Draco is pulling them to their feet as well.

The kissing resumes. Harry runs an idle hand over Draco’s cock. They press their own against Draco’s thigh, while fae tongues at their earlobe.

“Can I suck your cock?” Draco asks as fae nips at Harry’s jaw.

“Uhh – ”

“I don’t have to,” Draco tells them, “if you’d rather not.”

The thing is, though, that Harry does want their cock sucked. The thought of the wet heat of Draco’s mouth around them, pulling them toward orgasm, has their cock getting, somehow, even harder. And yet –

“We can always try,” Draco suggests, “and then if you want to stop, we can.”

Harry turns their head to capture Draco’s lips in a kiss. “Sounds good,” they agree.

And then Draco is sliding faer way down Harry’s body, until fae is kneeling in front of them. Harry unbuttons their trousers, pulling them and their pants down to mid-thigh. In their nervousness, their cock has softened slightly, so they grab hold of it, giving it a couple of strokes. Draco reaches out faer own hand, wrapping it around the head of Harry’s cock. Harry lets their hand fall to their side.

Draco leans forward, places a soft kiss to the tip of Harry’s cock. Then, fae looks up at Harry. “You should fuck my mouth,” fae tells them.

The words are enough to elicit a spurt of precome from their cock. “Yea?” Harry asks.

“Definitely,” Draco tells them. Fae licks at the precome before sliding faer mouth over Harry’s cock.

As Draco removes faer hand, Harry pushes the rest of the way into Draco’s mouth. As their balls come to rest against Draco’s chin, they place their hands in Draco’s hair, threading their fingers through the blond strands. As Draco’s eyes begin to water, Harry slides their cock out of faer mouth before pushing back in. They set a slow pace, fucking Draco’s mouth, as Draco sucks and hums in greedy appreciation.

All Harry can think about is the absolutely divine sensation of their cock in Draco’s mouth. The pace of their facefucking quickly ratchets up as they chase more and more of this feeling. The look on Draco’s face, meanwhile, is one of absolute ecstasy. Faer eyes have fallen shut and fae has begun palming faer cock in a rather rough, insistent manner.

Harry’s fucking has now gotten so fast and forceful that their balls are slapping against Draco’s chin. The sound, mixing in with Draco’s groans and Harry’s whispered cursing, is outrageously filthy.

“Fuck, Draco, gonna come soon,” Harry tells faer. A thought strikes them. “Can I come on your face?”

Draco hums in enthusiastic agreement. After a few last punishing thrusts, Harry pulls their cock from Draco’s mouth and begins stroking it at much the same speed.

Draco opens faer eyes, looks up at Harry. “Want your come on me,” fae tells them.

The desperation in faer voice is enough to make Harry come, striping Draco’s face with white. This, in turn, has Draco coming, silent once again and with eyes shut.

Harry continues to gently stroke their spent cock, taking in the sight of Draco on faer knees. Harry isn’t sure that they’ve ever seen anyone looking so debauched. Especially not while fully clothed. Come is dripping off faer face. Meanwhile, a large damp spot on faer trousers betrays faer own orgasm. The messy sight is almost enough to have Harry ready for round two.

Gradually, Draco blinks faer eyes back open. “That was so fucking hot,” fae says.

Harry lets go of their cock in favour of helping Draco back to faer feet. “I never knew sex could be this good,” they say.

“It gets even better,” Draco replies.

“Is that a promise?” Harry asks.

“It is.”


End file.
